Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,225

to either of us, it was something more, something deeper than I’ve ever felt with another human. We were connecting on some cellular level. We were imprinting on each other’s hearts. I knew he felt it, too, I knew he did, but despite that, I also knew it wouldn’t matter in the morning.

I refused to think of that as my eyes bore into his, though. Morning would come and this would end, but we’d always have this moment. We’d always share this heat, this connection, this fleeting passage of time, and he’d ruin me for any other man. I could only hope I’d ruin him for any other woman, but in my heart, I knew that wasn’t true.

He grunted and closed his eyes, ending the beautiful, fleeting moment, and then his fingers dug into my hips and he ground his pelvis up into mine. Even his grunts were hot—these primal sounds like he couldn’t hammer into me fast enough or hard enough, and I moaned back with some carnal noises I couldn’t control. I didn’t even have to move—he did all the work, spearing me and driving into me over and over until my body broke and swells of pleasure washed over me just as he hit his own wall of bliss.

We tensed and shouted through our orgasms together, coming and coming like it would never end. He grasped onto me as my body shuddered and the waves started to subside, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me close as he stayed inside me. I clung to him, my hands linked around his neck, never wanting to move from him or break this dynamic connection we shared.

Nothing lasts forever, though, and this moment was meant to end, too.

Eventually he cleared his throat and whispered to me in the dark as he lifted me gently and slipped out of me. “I think we should do that again.”

I giggled.

“There’s a bathroom through that door,” he said, nodding to a door across the room. He fluttered a kiss to my cheek before he helped me up.

I walked wordlessly across the room to the bathroom. I gazed at myself in the mirror. I was the same woman I’d been before I’d left the house I shared with my best friend earlier this evening, but everything had changed. I didn’t look any different, but I certainly felt different. I felt high from his kisses, like I was flying from the way he made love to me.

I gave myself a sad smile at that thought. Made love.

He didn’t make love to me. It was amazing, yes. It was the best sex of my life—without a doubt, by far. But it wasn’t love. How could it be when we didn’t know each other…when I was just one in a long line of many who came before me and many who would come after me?

He was in his bed when I exited the bathroom. I snuggled in beside him, and he held me as we whispered in the dark. Eventually, sleep took us. I woke to his mouth working against my most intimate skin, driving me to another orgasm before I finally treated myself to the taste of him in my mouth.

I couldn’t sleep after that, so I sat in the chair and alternated between staring out the window and staring at his sleeping form. If I turned to just the right angle, I could see both. Even after he called me back to bed, I couldn’t go. He was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake him. I wanted to be here with him. I wanted to enjoy my time, and sleeping it away would make it end sooner.

He woke once more and we had sex in his bed. He moved over the top of me, his body moving in perfect sync with mine, and tears leaked out of my eyes as I came. I was grateful for the darkness and his sleepiness, because he didn’t notice—or if he did, he didn’t say anything. Devastation took over as the first rays of daylight peeked over the horizon. Night was over. The magical glow of the lights from the Strip were buried with the night, just like the memories I’d always have of this night.

He was still sleeping when I left. If morning came and we talked, if I got to know anything more about him than I already knew, if he started in with the lines about how I was different and intriguing, it would all